Many, many years ago we went on a road trip to a sleepy northern California town called Gualala. We absolutely loved the small town and sleeping to the natural sounds of the waves. No sleep machine needed. What could be more perfect? There was one slight problem. Back then we followed Yahoo’s driving directions to the town and it set us upon a dirt road that we did not quiet expect. If you ever come across Fishrock road in northern California, avoid it by all means necessary.
It seemed beautiful at first, although we had some initial trepidation. Then we kept going and the rocks kept hitting our car underbelly. We traveled for mile upon mile on that dirt road. When we reached its end and hit small town civilization, our car was done. The dirt road trip we took that day realized all my childhood fears of dirt roads that I had developed as a result of watching horror films. By the way, Hispanics love horror films and ate the ones that really keep that genre going. Although, I no longer do. The last horror film I watched was my 37th week of pregnancy where I had an odd craving to watch really bad films. Anyway, I digress. I have feared dirt roads. But not so much anymore.
Now, we rent cars that have four-wheel drive and go prepared to handle dirt roads. We have taken many dirt roads since that have led to awesome trails and pots of gold (metaphorically speaking, of course). I still, occasionally, think a crazy lonely killer may spring up but I have pepper spray at hand. Dirt roads, though, are fun to be had.
Recently, I was flying up above Hawaii and caught these lovely shots from the air of some magnificent dirt roads.
Looking down onto these dirt road scenes made me want to parachute down, land and sprint back and forth. From up in the air, there is a certain freedom and allure to the dirt road. As a matter of fact, I am now craving a dirt road trip. Where’s my backpack?! Onwards.
Categories: childhood, Film, hispanic, Humor, photography, Psychology, Travel
Had to smile when I read about dirt roads because for my husband, that’s like the call of the wild. He grew up in regional Tasmania where the legal speed limit was 110 kph on all roads (I’m sure his voice became more animated then). He said that you basically drove to conditions but you “learned to drive!!!” He tells me you go up to the forestry plantations and drive…FAST!!! (calm down Geoff!!)
Dirt roads are kind of fun. Thanks for playing. 😀
Must be time for a return trip to Aus. Mimi!
You may wish to hit the Kimberley Trails. Plenty of dirt out there.
No hidden killers lurking however the Drop Bears and Grizzly Goannas are frightful.
Dirt roads are a metaphor for modern life. We expect all things to be just so, only to find somebody forgot to warn us of the rocky bits sticking up.B
What do you mean, no hidden killers? Never watched Wolf Creek?
There’s that too.
Shouldn’t worry our intrepid Mimi though.B
🙂 cheers to that
I have not heard of wolf creek? hmmm?